What's the WiFi Password at Hogwarts?
by figment of my mind
Summary: Leigh Watson has always led a relatively normal life, interrupted by short bursts of abnormality. The percentage of abnormal things in her life takes a sharp up swing when she receives a letter with green ink on her 11th birthday. Modern day Hogwarts AU- may include next-gen canon characters, but won't be major part of the story.
1. Prologue

**Hello! This is my first story on Fanfiction! I hope you all like the prologue- the first chapter will kind of clear things up a bit. I will be trying to update about once every 1-2 weeks, but things (mainly school) get in the way! Please be understanding that I am a student and I do have a life (a minimal life, but a life) outside of writing! Please review and favorite, it means so much to us! Thank you and enjoy!**

Birthdays had always been my favorite days of the year. Why? Apart from the obvious, like getting cake and presents, I really didn't know. Perhaps it was just getting to see my friends and family so happy, or maybe, because when I was younger, wishing on candles just seemed so magical to me or maybe it was the morbid part of me knowing that I had somehow survived another year of being me, Leigh Watson, even though I led a perfectly normal life. Except on my birthdays. On that one day, fate always decided to twist things up a bit.

June 15, 2006 (3 years old)

"Charlotte Irene Pearson Watson! Sit down right now or God so help me!" Daniel Watson, my father, shouted, albeit lovingly, at my pregnant mummy. She was only three months into her pregnancy, and daddy was already treating her like a porcelain doll. When eight months rolled around, he would be transporting her around on some sort of mattress/wheelchair hybrid for fear of the baby somehow getting damaged from some external force of one sort or another. Mum was in the middle of a slight crisis, because she still hadn't felt the baby kicking yet, and every pregnancy book she read (and trust me, she had read a lot) said that she should have felt the baby kicking at least a week ago. It was my second birthday, and the first birthday Mummy and Daddy did anything for, seeing as I would never remember my first.

"Come on Mummy! Come on Daddy! Present time!" I was three, and I wanted to open my presents now! I was a firm believer in wishes even at this point, and I was convinced that a puppy would be wrapped up with a bow on its head, because I had wished supersupersuper hard for one on my birthday candles. and now that I had three to wish on, I was totally going to get a puppy this birthday. Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease please let it be a puppy in that big box!

Suddenly, my Mummy let out a soft cry, clutching her ever present abdomen. "Daniel! I-i felt something!"

Daddy and I raced over, momentarily abandoning all hopes of a dog. She made a gesture towards a stomach, motioning for us to put our hands there. Sure enough, after a few seconds of waiting, we felt a tiny thump coming from her stomach. Daddy's eyes welled with joyous tears as he carefully hugged Mummy. Through his tears, my dad joked "Did you wish on your candles for a brother or sister Leigh? Because it looks like you're getting one this year!"

Well, no. I did not wish for a brother or a sister. I only wanted a puppy, but it turns out I got a brother _and _a sister in December, as (yay!) an early Christmas present. It's true, I didn't wish for a sibling, but the timing of the kick had always seemed a bit coincidental to me. And you know what they say about coincidences- the universe is rarely so lazy….

June 15, 2009 (6 years old)

"Make a wish, sweetheart!" My mum and dad exclaimed as I eagerly leaned over my cake to blow out the candles. Before I even got to wish on anything, Trevor, my one year old brother, leaned precariously down from his perch on his highchair and somehow managed to extinguish all six of the candles before I could. Mum and Dad immediately exploded. well, as much as you could explode at a one year old without him bursting into tears. I was almost in tears now, too, because me making wishes was my favorite part of my birthday.

Dad hurriedly rushed back to the cabinet to get the matches again, because there was no way he was letting his baby girl go a birthday without blowing out candles. Me, being my petulant now five year old self, I wanted to make a wish now! I always wished for the same thing every year- a puppy. Three years ago, I had gotten Trevor and Iris, which were basically puppies for their first six months of life. then, they started to become less dog-like and more little human like, so here I was, wishing with all my might for a puppy again. I was ready to open my eyes to extinguish the candles, well, smoke at this point, but when I did peek from beneath my eyelids, the candles were lit and my parents were staring at me in shock. Thinking this was just a joke, I giggled, saying, "I didn't hear you light the candles Daddy!"

My father looked at me with all seriousness in his eyes. "I didn't light the candles honey. They just- well- relit by themselves."

My mother just looked at him with utter disbelief, melting into shock when she turned around to see that the candles, were in fact, actually lit. Mum and Dad just convinced themselves that one of the candles hadn't actually blown out and somehow relit the other 5. That was a pretty sloppy theory even to my now six year old mind, and I never quite forgot about the day when my birthday candles lit up again. Even if that event was slightly overshadowed by my receiving a puppy not long after that incident.

June 15, 2012 (9 years old)

This year was the year of music for me. Our school had just announced before summer holidays that there was going to be an orchestra program starting up when school started up again. Now, I had never been a very musically-inclined person, but this was honestly the first exposure I had ever had-or was really ever going to have- with playing music. My parents both took band in secondary school, and both quit after a month of playing.

Now, I had my heart set on the violin. I had gone to the symphony with my grandparents the year before, and for some reason, the only part of the entire concert that really stuck with me was the concert master's solo. Before now, I knew there was no chance I would be allowed to play and instrument on my own without a group, so there was never really a chance for me to get into any instrument. Now, however, I had a chance. The only things on my birthday list this year were a violin and private lessons, and it turns out I had gotten just that. After cake and candles, my parents presented me with my own violin, with a certificate for private lessons with the lady down the street, who apparently played in the local philharmonic.

That night, I was laying in my bed, trying to sleep, but was being kept awake by visions of me someday playing in a big, red velvet-draped theatre. I listened to me playing the final note of Beethoven- but the music kept playing. I got out of bed, and turned on my bedroom light. blinking spots out of my eyes, I traced the source of the music to…. my violin case? Walking over, I knelt down on the floor and unzipped the case. Sure enough, a beautiful melody wafted from the instrument. My mouth hung open in astonishment.

It seemed like every year, something strange and unexpected happened on my birthday. And this year seemed to be no exception.

June 15, 2013 (10 years old)

This year was a bit different than the last. It must've been with me finally turning double digits, but this year, I really didn't have a birthday list. Now that our family had three kids in school, with all their respective activities, money was a bit tight. I wasn't really expecting anything, so I didn't put any pressure on my parents to get me anything. Besides, I was pretty happy with everything I had now. My birthday passed without much ado. I did receive some clothes, but nothing special.

Too late, I realized there was a big something I wanted. My bedroom had been the same god-awful shade of pink ever since I moved in there after the renovation. i had been lusting over a shade of green for a long time now, but had conveniently forgot to mention it to my parents when asked what I wanted for my birthday, to which i skillfully replied "nothing, please."

I knew it was too late to mention painting my room to Mum and Dad, so that night in bed, I wished and wished like it was my birthday dinner all over again and my pillows were candles.

When I woke up, something seemed off in my room. I began a mental checklist, as I so often did in times of distress. Bed, check, dresser, yes, bookcase, yes (thankfully), walls, ch-wait. Uncheck the walls. I shot straight up in bed, eyeing the walls very suspiciously. You see, I was 500% positive that when I went to bed, the walls were that same shade of ugly cotton candy. Yet, now, not 12 hours after that, I was sitting in a room with green walls, exactly the shade of green I loved. The even stranger part was that my parents didn't know that i liked green, so it couldn't've been them. Even more stranger was the state of the walls. They were dry, as if they hadn't been painted a completely different shade the night before. And that's when I heard my parents clomping up the stairs. How in the world would I explain this to them?

June 15, 2014 (11 years old)

This birthday was as strange as the last, if not stranger. It was the start of a school year where I would be completely changed. It was the dawn of an era, and the end of one as well. It was the birthday when I received a curious letter in emerald ink. It was the birthday when I found out I was a witch.

**Yay! Prologue done! Please review! (I greatly appreciate constructive criticism too!)**

**BD**


	2. Chapter 1

**As promised, chapter 1! I hope you like it, and please leave any constructive criticism and thoughts below. **

I was just getting to the good part of my book, racing through the pages, when my mum shouted up the stairs.

"Leigh? Please come down. There's a lady here that wants to speak with you."

I knew something was up right then. I had been diagnosed at an early age with social anxiety, and I hated meeting new people. My parents knew that full well, so, when any prospective visitors came around, which was very rare in itself, an excuse along the lines of "she's at her grandmother's house" was brought up, and the person in question usually didn't come back after that. Besides, our only visitors were mostly just co-workers of my Mum or Dad's and when they did come, my presence was really only required for about a minute, in which the visitor in question would spout out the overused phrase of Oh Wow Daniel And Charlotte Look At Your Beautiful Child she's Gotten So Big at which I have nothing to say and that is my cue to head back upstairs like a good little girl and read for the rest of the night, which I was only too happy to do.

I considered telling her that I was right at the part in my book where it's revealed that the main character's best friend is actually the villain, the part at which the book was finally going to get interesting. But, that would take me shouting down the stairs, and I had always had a small, mousy voice, so that option was out. Option two: Suck it up and go down the stairs and see what my parents wanted of me. That seemed like the safest choice, so option two it was.

I cautiously made my way down the long hallway leading , and plodded silently down the stairs. I took this time to silently observe the scene. Mum, Dad, Roscoe, so far, so normal- but who was that? A lady, fairly old judging by her face, was sitting by our fire, which was always roaring in any temperature, traditional cup of tea in her hand. I was even more surprised that she elected to sit in that particular spot, because she was clothed in emerald green robes- quite the getup, and probably would be very hot in this July weather, even without this heat. The London area had been on a horrific heat wave for the past week. I reached the bottom of the stairs and in my mousy voice, proclaimed. "I'm here."

Our visitor jumped at hearing my voice; my parents made no motion of surprise. They had long since gotten used to my silent traipsing around places. I hesitantly walked over to where my parents were sitting, sneaking a cautious glance at our unusual visitor as I did so.

"Leigh," my mother started in her "please act normal for once or God so help me" tone (I heard it all too often), gestured to my usual armchair, which was now occupied by this woman, "this is Professor McGonagall from, well, I'll let her explain it."

The woman- Professor, apparently- rose from the armchair, rather gracefully for her apparent age, and took a half step towards me.

"Yes, thank you Mrs. Watson. As I was just telling your parents here, I am from Hogwarts, a boarding school in Scotland. Hogwarts is a school only for certain people, people with special abilities."

My brain immediately shot back into the depths of my memories, reeling through them to possibly figure out what made me so "special" as to be accepted into this school. Sure, I was plenty smart, but not the smartest one in my year. I played violin, and sure, I was concertmaster of my school orchestra, but going all the way to Scotland for that? That really was unreasonable. Besides, I was already enrolled in a magnet school for creative writing, so I was set for this year.

Or so I thought.

I got snapped out of my mind when the Professor continued, "Miss Watson, you have magical abilities. In short, you are a witch. Hogwarts is the wizarding school for Great Britain and the surrounding areas, and you have a place there, if you so choose to accept it."

_Me? Magical? A… witch?_

My mind went blank as I momentarily struggled to process this newfound information, and in that moment I spout out the only coherent thought that came into to my head.

"What?"

The professor- well, Professor McGonagall to me now- shook her head a bit and smiled momentarily- I guess she must've been very used to this reaction at this point in her career.

"You're a witch," she reiterated, "you have magical abilities and powers, and Hogwarts is one of the only schools in the world at which you can refine your abilities, and is one of the finest. I am the Headmistress, and before that I taught transfiguration for some time.

"A-are Iris and Trevor magical as well?" Iris and Trevor, my twin little brother and sister, loved reading books about magic and playing sorcerer- they would be ecstatic if they could go to Hogwarts.

At this McGonagall pursed her lips and said, "Trevor is, but Iris is not. We do have Trevor on our lists for admission in 3 years.

"So you're saying- that I can go to school to become a witch?"

She gave another one of her almost imperceptible smiles that I tended to get from my teachers a lot, as if to say "How many times do I have to explain this concept to you?"

I spun around to look at my parents, who I had almost forgotten were in the room, and was about to ask if I could go, when I remembered one crucial detail like a sucker punch to the stomach. Every time I asked if I could go to a private school, my parents always said no for one reason. They were just too expensive. I mean, we weren't poor by any standards, but adding private school (especially in Scotland) on top of handling three kids and all the expenses that came along with them was just too much.

So, with that, I turned dejectedly back to Professor McGonagall and mumbled "imsorrybutidontthinkwecanreallyaffordthatrightnow" which came out quite fast.

"What's that dear?" she questioned, not quite understanding my incoherent speech.

"I-it's just that, well, um, we're kind of tight on money as it is, and well, I don't think we can really, well, afford the tuition right now at the moment." I stuttered as I glanced at my parents, who had adopted an almost murderous glare. Rule number one of the Watson household was that we _never ever ever _talked about our money. Especially the family finances. Pretty poor choice on my dad's part, as we were going to have no idea how to handle our savings after university, but I digress.

Professor Mcgonagall took a deep breath, as if preparing to spill some bad news. "Well, I think there's another option. Your uncle, Thomas was it?"

I nodded mutely in response, not sure where this was headed. Uncle Tom, Mum's brother in-law, had just died a few short weeks ago, hit by a drunk driver.

"He was a wizard."

Surprisingly, this did not shock me as much as I thought it would. Who else was secretly a wizard in my family?

"And, that's not all. As you probably knew, he was fairly wealthy, and when he passed, in his will he left the entire sum of his Gringotts bank account to be divided among his relatives with magical blood. You are not directly related to him, but since you and Trevor are his only living magical relatives, the funds are automatically transferred to you two to split between you both."

"Gringotts?"

"The bank for wizards. It's located in Diagon Alley, secretly located right in the heart of London. Run by goblins."

"Goblins? Like, from the fairy tales?" My dad asked weakly; I had forgotten how much of a shock this would be for my parents as well, as I was continually told that children had more elasticity to their minds, and were more open to new ideas, usually said by my teachers in the context of "use it or lose it".

"Well," continued Professor McGonagall thoughtfully, "depending on what 'fairy tales' you're using for reference, and what goblins in our society you're referring to, yes, some of the more rogue groups of goblins can be quite nasty at times. But, those bands stay far away from any sort of human community, and the ones that work the banks are very, well, I wouldn't call them exactly nice, but they are civil."

I was all but ready to shout "Count me in!" but then I remembered. Attending Hogwarts, however fantastic it may be, still meant a new school, with new people, a new friend group to make, most likely a new bossy clique to deal with, and so many other variables. I had attended my primary school from the age of five, and I had had the same group of friends, well, if you could classify them as friends (they were mostly just people to have lunch with, seeing as there were no empty tables in the courtyard for me to sit at alone) , ever since the first day of Year 1. I hatedhatedhated meeting new people, and especially hated meeting people in my own age group. Whenever I met new kids around my age, usually at various orchestra events and Trevor's taekwondo meets, everyone always forgot about actually meeting me and started gossiping to each other about how I was such a baby for still hiding behind my Mum's back at age 10.

I began to argue with myself in my head.

_It's HOGWARTS! Go while you have the chance._

_Yeah but… I'll have to meet new people- and new classes- and what if they don't offer orchestra?_

_HOGWARTS! MAGIC! WIZARDS! SPELLS!_

_But….. people? And do they even have wi-fi in old castles in Scotland?_

_Who cares about Wi-fi? You can probably magic-ify your cell phone into working off of magic. And really, who would you text if you could?_

That _was _the sad truth. Even if I did, by chance, happen to get the chance to communicate with someone, who would I talk to? And then, I said the words I would've never imagined myself saying.

"I'm in."

**So, two (well technically one) chapters done! Next time, we'll be going to Diagon Alley and stuff like that. Again, please leave any thoughts, comments, reactions, constructive criticism, etc. below. **

**Thank you for reading!**

**BD**


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